Repression
by Adina-Anne
Summary: Detectives Logan and Barak finally meet. This time from Logan's perspective.


I don't own anything even vaguely related to the Law & Order franchise.

Keep in mind (if you read this after Oct. 2, 2005) that this was written before anyone had seen Carolyn Barak. I don't know what her personality is like at all, and neither do you (yet).

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"Logan, can you come in here please?" Great, what now? Isn't it enough that I got the shit desk in the office and Deakins is letting that tiny-ass detective mock me for it. God, I hate this place. I wish I was back on homicide with Briscoe. Those were some good years.

As I walk in to see what he wants, he leans against his desk as if to brace himself for an explosion. Then I looked at his companion and understood why. I quickly averted my eyes and shifted my stance. There's no reason for her to get offended before the introductions. Besides, it's not good to show dislike in front of the man who controls your job. "Detective Logan, I'd like you to meet your new partner, Detective Barak." Yeah, I didn't see that one coming from a mile away.

"Pleased to meet you." Right. I see that look in your eye, like I'm far too old to be working on the streets, especially with someone like you. What, should I have dyed my hair so there was no grey in it or something? Humph, women. They always try to get everyone to be just as vain as they are. All that make-up and hair dye. Nice cloths I understand, but the rest of it is just that—a façade.

Shit you can see it in this woman. She's just standing there, with her hand outstretched. She has on far too much concealer that does nothing to hide her age. Any woman as old as her would show some signs of white hair, but hers is dark and rich in color. I bet she re-colored it this weekend. The hand that is extended toward me has not one, not even two, but three rings on it. None of them, I note quickly, are on the ring finger. But I guess the fact that she is here proves that her marriage was not so much to a man as to a system of order. I took the hand in mine, just to be polite.

"Why don't you two take the day to get to know each other?" Spend a day with this witch instead of doing paperwork? This guy is cruel. Okay, I can do this. I turned and headed out of the office toward my favorite café. Barak sidled next to me in the elevator but I ignored her presence. I left her standing on the stairs as I walked off. I never turned down the chance to watch the Hudson River as it flows over to the Atlantic from a little coffee shop near the shores. Always reminds me of a hell of a case several years back. Cragen hated me then. I'm sure he still does.

When the waiter came over, I ordered exactly what I needed—an espresso. Nothing like a good caffeine kick to hide the shock and horror of the world. I didn't notice what Barak ordered; probably some nonfat soy frappuccino that all the women across the world are so fascinated in. What ever happened to coffee? God, it's no longer a drink, now it's a lifestyle.

"You don't like me." What! Where did that come from? I looked at her, shocked that she could read me so well. I searched her face, looking for where ever it was that she held her sixth sense of reading people. Or maybe my mask against the world is not as good as I would like to think. Shit, no wonder my life sucks. I can't even stand up to that Goren-freak.

"No, I don't. I don't like working with…women." Shit I sound like an ass. But it's true. I don't like working with them. What if they break a nail? What then? Then the case is shot to hell. Damn, they always think that they can do things better their way. Think it through, or some shit like that. God, just finish it. Just go in, gun up, and get the damn job done. Criminals don't wait around for elaborate schemes.

"Thought so." Shit, she really does have me figured out. Fine, if she wants to think of me as some anti-feminine pig then good for her. She can sit back and file her nails for all I care. I don't have to wait for her in order to bust down a door, or run into a dead body. I'm fucking independent! Shit!

As I shift my glance from her face down to my drink, the phone rings. "Logan." Great, Deakins on the line. Some dead body somewhere; Goren and Eames already have too much to do. I can feel Barak look at me, demanding to know what I am learning. "Deakins." I explain. I stand, knowing instinctively that she will follow me. Women do that; it's one of their many downfalls.

Suck it up, Logan. I need to work with this…person. I hate people, all of them. They always get in the way, especially this one. Not only does she follow, like a trained dog, but she knows me—or I think she does at least. I've never met someone, not even Goren, who freaks me out as much as she does. Stay in control, Logan. Soon you can switch, let Deakins know that it can't work. Just stay in control.

_Fin_

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Grrr… This one was harder; I just don't know Logan very well. Hopefully you can at least see where I'm going.


End file.
